Da MarySue Dat Ain't
by Death By Stereo
Summary: We're back at it again! Drinks all 'round! Here is a lame spoof of a Mary-Sue story. It's a random piece of lameness so if you don't appriciate random, don't read ahead.


This is Ob, AKA Chelsea writing this chapter. If anybody has read any of our other lame work, you'll notice that Ashley's newsie nickname has been changed from 'Jack' to "Ripper' in this story due to confusion by … umm … me. Whee. Enjoy chapter one and our lameness. We're sad … sad … sad individuals.

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Chapter One

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"Wait up, guys!" Crutchy hobbled after the newsies with his trusty cane in hand over the cobble-stoned streets, not the best place for running - or dancing, for that matter.  
  
Jack Kelly, an eighteen-year-old stallion with a face of dreams and the body of a God, was the only newsboy decent enough to stop and wait for the handicapped boy with the curly hair and the big nose.  
  
Crutchy offered a grateful smile. "T'anks, Jack." Jack swung a rough arm around the gimp and cackled aimlessly, smirking that smirk that makes these authors melt.  
  
"No problem, Crutchy," Jack replied, his feet ready to spout off into another climactic dance number. Somewhere off in the distance, a frightening chick with uneven hair banged on some pots to keep the beat. Her unknown companion, who was wearing a trench coat, swung open her coat and pulled out a ukulele.  
  
"I'll be there for you!" Jack sang in his mediocre voice. He let go of Crutchy and did a twirly twirl into the middle of the street. His shirt mysteriously came off. "When the rain starts to pour!"  
  
The ukulele player and the pot-lady came out into the street doing the robot. "I'll be there for you..." they sang in unison.  
  
Crutchy, over by the sidewalk, gawked at the semi-naked cowboy in the street.  
  
"Like I've been there before!" Jack pulled out his rope from his pants, almost as if it were magic, and began to jump around with it. He roped himself a banana, then tossed it to the pot-lady. The ukulele player then bit the pot-lady, who dropped the banana. The instrument player took the banana for herself and stuffed it in her pocket.  
  
"It has Jack amoebas all over it!" she explained.  
  
"I'll be there for you!" The entire street joined in on the chorus, some people doing back flips and cartwheels and splits. They were all in sync, like they've rehearsed it a million times.  
  
"Cause you're there for me ... toooooo!!" Jack held the last note and somewhere in the distance, Specs' glasses shattered. Crutchy was the only one clapping, the two random girls disappeared, and the crowd of people suddenly went back about their business.  
  
"That was great, Jack," Crutchy clapped a hand on Jack's back. Lol. Jack's back. Jack Black.  
  
Jack and Crutchy sauntered down the path humming while trying to catch up with the rest of the newsies. It was almost time to buy their papers.  
  
A pair vibrant purple eyes danced around, searching for the next victim. It wouldn't be that hard to find somebody, since the person in question was only 4'2 and could sneak her hands into anybody's pocket, anytime, anywhere, even Spot Conlon's at midnight in the middle of Brooklyn Square. She was _that_ good.  
  
The girl, whose name was Kikifallonkiefethersutherlandjohnnydepp (but Kiki for short), re-adjusted her hair so that her shimmering blonde hair with natural highlights kept its peace under her cabbie hat. With her ensemble consisting of baggy brown pants, a pair of blue suspenders and a checkered shirt, she looked just like a boy. Go figure! The only think that wasn't feminine was her face. Go figure again! Since the only girls outside on the streets were hookers, nobody ever recognized Kiki as a girl because she was a street punk. She could throw a punch straight through a brick wall, do Matrix style flips off buildings, play poker like she was a Racetrack, and not to mention intimidate the pants off Spot Conlon with her tough as nails attitude. Though ... intimidating the pants off Spot Conlon would be a great prize ...  
  
FOCUS, MAN! FOCUS!  
  
Right, on with Kiki. But we forgot to mention one thing. She's shy. She's been hurt before, of course, so it's tough for her to love again. Her last boyfriend raped her and left her for dead, so now she doesn't trust boys. But she's willing to sell newspapers with a bunch of sweaty, horny teenage boys just because Jack asks her to. Wow. Surprising.  
  
Her dad died when she was young. Her mom died too. She had no relatives, so she was left to fend for herself. Cue the pocket-swiping business. She was excellent at picking anybody's pockets, obviously, she wouldn't be meeting the newsies if she wasn't awesome at everything, right?  
  
Oh yeah, she can also insult anybody. If somebody calls her a 'doll', she won't think twice about socker-punching them.  
  
Just the girl you love to hate, eh?  
  
Anyway!  
  
Kiki had watched the boy do the magnificent dance number in the center of the street while hiding in a dumpster. She had been sleeping when she heard the entire block erupt into a massive pile of song and dance. She watched him, watched his shirt come off, watched him rope that banana, and she was hooked. She had to pickpocket him. Does it matter why? Of course not! IT'S KIKI!  
  
After the number ended, she tiptoed around the corner and peered over. A horrible, ghastly face was staring back at her.  
  
"Hi!" It was the ukulele girl with the pot-lady by her side. They will be making frequent appearances throughout the program. Enjoy. "I'm Ashley, codename Ripper."  
  
"And I'm Chelsea," her sidekick said. "Or codename ... STORM SHADOW!"  
  
Ripper kicked her foot backwards, nailing her companion in the non-existent balls.  
  
"Her name is Ob, short for Obsessor," Ripper explained. "What's your name?"  
  
Kiki's mouth fell open. "None o' yer business!" she snapped, and attempting to push her way past Ripper and Ob. No such luck. Ripper shoved Kiki right back into place. Kiki was almost frightened, but her sweet sense of knowing how to kick anyone's ass was on her mind and she was fine.  
  
"It is our, business, chick," Ob stated, trying to act tough and squinting her eyes like Clint Eastwood. HA! We should call him "SQUINT" Eastwood! LOL!  
  
"Yeah, you're in our story ... we have a right to know!" Ripper added.  
  
"Bite me," Kiki growled.  
  
"You know, Rip, we could just scroll up and read her name instead," Ob suggested.  
  
Ripper kicked Ob in the knee and Ob went sprawling to the cold ground.  
  
"What's your name ... doll face?"  
  
Kiki's face turned bright red. Not from embarrassment, no no. FROM ANGER! "Don't ... call ... me ... doll face!" Kiki back flipped suddenly, kicking her small feet into Ripper's chin. Ripper staggered back, tripped over Ob who was still on the ground, and smacked her head on the pavement.  
  
Authors Note: No random chicks were harmed in the making of this chapter.  
  
"OW! Son of a moose!" Ripper yelled.  
  
Ob groaned. "Get off me!"  
  
"Funny, that's what I told Jack last night!" Ripper cackled and Ob high-fived her. Ob and Ripper stared at Kiki, who looked like a deer in headlights. Both random girls staggered to their feet, and Ripper stared at Kiki.  
  
"Where did you get that awful scar?" she asked, and Kiki put a delicate hand to her face and looked away bashfully.  
  
"Oh, come on!" Ob moaned ... umm ... rather she ... sighed ...? "Why are you 'looking away bashfully'? Not too seconds ago were you kicking out asses! Ripper pretended to shoot her fist out, but Ob cowered and stepped back anyway.  
  
"You're not supposed to pay attention to stuff like that, remember?" Ripper whispered, elbowing Ob for no apparent reason. Kiki stood still, watching the two insane strangers rather than running away ... which is the normal thing to do when approached by total strangers in the alleyway.  
  
Ripper turned to Kiki who was standing as tall as her midget figure would let her. "Are you gonna tell us where you got that scar?"  
  
Kiki darted her eyes from side to side.  
  
"Uh," she started, looking real nervous. "It's nothing."  
  
"Come on, you know you want to tell us," Ripper urged.  
  
Kiki's eyes welled up with tears.  
  
_'No!' _She thought, _'I won't cry! I haven't cried since I was 2 and my brother died in that fire!'__  
_  
"I don't know where I go it," Kiki lied.  
  
"Come ooonnnn," Ob rubbed her hands together.  
  
"Funny," Ripper commented, pointing at Ob's toasty hands. "You was just doin' that ta Racetrack only on his - "  
  
Finally, Ob came through and smacked Ripper for the first time that day. Ripper clobbered Ob in the face with her shoe.  
  
Suddenly, Bob came in, running like that scary guy in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" and spoke in his best English cockney accent ... hee ... cock.  
  
"Who t'rows a shoe? Honestly!"  
  
Ripper bit Bob. "I didn't throw it, I just hit her with them."  
  
"Ow," Ob rubbed her nose.  
  
"Tell us where you got the scar," Ripper pressed on after Bob had run off again.  
  
Kiki began to cry. After a few sobs were sobbed and a few odd glances between Ob and Ripper were thrown around, Kiki blabbed her entire life story in a mere five minutes. By the time she had finished, Ob and Ripper were dozed off in the corner, Ob dreaming about Taylor Hanson (YES, TAYLOR HANSON!) and Ripper dreaming about gathering a herd of Depps and Baldwins and trampling all over the Mary-Sue biznatch known as Kiki.  
  
Kiki, oblivious to everything around her (she would act the most oblivious when one of the newsies liked her), made a grunty, huffy kind of noise; a noise that only a Mary-Sue biznatch could make up. After stepping over Ob and Ripper's feet, she ran after the boy with no shirt on in hopes of stealing his hard earned money from the day before. She would wait until he least expected it, and then sneak up behind him and 'jack' his coins. Little did she know that her love life was about to take a vehement turn.  
  
Little did she ALSO know that she was in for a little surprise. A little thing called ... REJECTION!  
  
end of chapter one

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**Ob**: I apologize for this. I truly do. Everything in here is meant to be sarcastic … it's meant to poke fun at how so many stories begin this way. A lonely, tough girl eyeing one of the newsies and then falling in love. Awww … I'M GONNA BE SICK! RIPPER! GET ME A BUCKET!  
  
**Ripper**: throws Ob a bucket but it lands on her head instead  
  
**Ob**: Stupid faces …  
  
**Ripper**: That's not an angry face!!  
  
**Ob**: It's a constipated one.  
  
**Ripper**: Your mom.  
  
**Ob**: Dinner plate.

**Ripper**: Umm .. moose?  
  
**Ob**: Anyway, except for the interaction with us in the chapter, Kiki's attitude and looks and movements are strictly Mary-Sue. Please join us next chapter for another messed up story brought to you by:  
  
Chelz and Ashley.  
  
This is meant to be really lame, so if you must flame, direct it at Sarah Jacobs because she deserves to burn … mwah ha ha


End file.
